We used to raise bottle calves when I was a kid. It was mine and my brother's responsibility to feed them after school. Daddy warned us not to get attached to them but he needn't worry. After being butted and kicked and knocked around by them, it was a PLEASURE to eat them! 8) We even called them by name at the supper table ie: "Momma, please pass Peanut down this way", or "Could I have some more Bullet, Momma?" Never bothered us, but we were warned to ask for the roast instead of calling the meat by name when company came calling!
My favorite all-time Rat Terrier, Pepper, had a stroke and I had to put her down. After that, ending an animals life became less troublesome to me.
Also, after my brother and I were hemmed in next to the chicken house by my grandmother's Rhode Island Red cockerels, I must admit that I looked forward to seeing them die! We told her to make sure we were there when Uncle Jack lopped their heads off. They were good on the dinner plate, even though a few weeks before they were cute little yellow fuzz balls in a box next to the heater in the living room.
And, lastly, there is no love lost between cow and man. I have had gentle, halter broke, retired show cows that would just as soon kill you as to look at you after they calved. Cattle can never be fully trusted, so forget this idea that they love you and there is some kind of bond there. There isn't.
